


A modern student in Queen Margaery's court

by sayrs



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-13 18:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayrs/pseuds/sayrs
Summary: Ever since she was a little girl, Sansa was fascinated by the historical figure of Queen Margaery.  She read all the books about the young queen, and, to her own shame, even wrote historical fiction about her.  Margaery's tragic death at the Great Sept was one she often thought about, too.  Many a night, Sansa spent fantasizing about swooping in to save her beloved heroine from the blazing wildfire.Then, one day, while driving in a freak lightning storm, Sansa got the chance she had always dreamed of.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some light-hearted, silly crack.

"Whatcha doin', Sans?"

Sansa squeaked in surprise and immediately tried to close her laptop.  It was too late, though.  Her little sister was faster and stronger.  With one hand, she held down Sansa's wrist, and started to read the text on her laptop screen aloud.

"'Margaery moved even closer, smirking, her doe eyes wide and inviting.  She took the squirming redhead's hands into her own, and pressed a soft kiss to her...' Oh Gods, Sansa are you writing porn again?"

"I am not writing porn!" Sansa yelled, then blushed as red as her hair, as the other patrons in the library looked over at her with curiosity.

"You are!  And it's about that queen you're so obsessed with.  Margaery, Margaery, Margaery." Arya pulled a nearby chair over, and sat down next to her. Sansa took the opportunity to shut her laptop.

"Aren't you supposed to be at fencing practice?"

"Cancelled.  If you didn't notice, sis, there's a pretty bad storm coming.  Flood warning and everything.  Everybody's leaving campus early.  Anyway, I wanted to check if you can drive me back?"

"I can't.  I need to finish my paper."

"I don't think Professor Tarly wants to read that terrible porn."

"That's not...!" Sansa said hotly. "First, it's not porn, it's  _historical fiction_.  And second, that wasn't my paper."

"So, you haven't actually been writing your paper."  Arya looked over at the piles of books on the table.  "Don't tell me, all this stuff is research for your p– sorry, your amateur  _historical fiction_ , not your actual paper."

"You have to do thorough background research to write historical fiction," Sansa declared primly.  "Otherwise you'll introduce historical inaccuracies, or anachronisms, and then your readers would start to lose immersion."

The younger girl rolled her eyes.  "Gods forbid some nerds on the Internet lose their immersion while reading your lesbian porn."

"Are you done?"  Sansa could feel a headache coming on already.  It was always like this with Arya.  Her sister could always find novel ways to get under her skin.  "Take the bus.  I'll be home later to make dinner."

Arya sighed.  "I never could understand your weird little obsession.  What's so special about this Margaery anyway? She's been dead for, like, a thousand years."

"If you must know, I think she was one of the warmest, smartest, most talented people in Westeros history.  She would have been the greatest queen ever, if Queen Cersei hadn't murdered her."

"Cersei.  That was...the woman who blew up the Great Sept?"

"Wow. My little sister actually remembered something from high school history class.  I didn't think you would find the time, in between sports-ball practices and beating up boys in the parking lot."

"They all deserved it."  Arya didn't even bat an eye.  "And yes, I did the same class work you did.  I got into King's Landing University, just like you."

"Athletic scholarships don't count," Sansa muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing.  Anyway, Queen Margaery, unlike all the kings and queens before her, she actually cared about the people.  She visited orphanages and gave charity to the poor.  Queen Margaery did her very best to moderate the cruelty of her first king, Joffrey, and guide her second king, Tommen, to be a good and wise ruler.  She even befriended a lonely, tormented daughter of a traitor, when the girl had no one to turn to –"

"Oh yeah," Arya suddenly exclaimed. "I remember now.  You're super crushing on this Margaery chick because she was hot, and probably had sex with that girl.  The girl who had your name, and looked almost exactly like you, in all the paintings."

Sansa flushed.  "Don't be crude, Arya.  And that's not it. At all."

"It so is!" Arya broke into laughter.  "Oh my gods, Sans, that's so adorable!"

Sansa mustered her best big-sister glare.  Arya laughed even harder.  The big-sister glare never worked on Arya, but she had to try something.

"It's not that funny."  A pout was starting to form on her face.

"Oh gods, Sans.  You're killing me here.  You're obsessing over this long-dead girl, which is super weird already.  You're obsessed enough to start writing amateur fiction about her on the Internet, which is weirder.  And now you're so obsessed, that you came here to the university library, and checked out half a dozen books, while neglecting your actual coursework, just to make sure you're writing  _historically accurate_ lesbian fiction about her.  For the Internet."

Sansa was so close to saying some very rude, very hurtful things to her own little sister when Arya's words sank in.  She couldn't help but grin, then chuckle sadly.  "When you put it like that, it does sound kind of ridiculous, doesn't it?"

Arya recovered her composure somewhat.  Her expression turned more serious when she realized her joke actually hurt Sansa.  "Sorry, sis.  Really.  I didn't mean anything by that.  I'm just making stupid jokes, like I do, you know?  Everyone's got hobbies.  And yours even helps you out, making you practice your writing and doing more history research and stuff."  She peered at Sansa, looking for forgiveness.

Sansa nodded.  "Thanks, I appreciate that."

Arya smiled, then sighed dramatically.  "Why couldn't you be obsessed with someone normal, though?  Like Brienne, she goes on and on about that Captain Jaime T. Lannister guy on  _Star Journey_.  It's creepy, but at least socially acceptable."

"Ew."  Sansa made a disgusted face.  "So not my type."

A sly look came over the younger girl's face.  "How about that actress on that show,  _The Baratheons_.  She played Margaery in that one, didn't she?"

Sansa blushed again.  "I am not discussing this.  You need to go catch a bus."

Arya laughed again and stood up.  "Fine, whatever.  Come home soon, though.  Or I'm going to eat all the lemon cakes."

"Nice try.  We don't have lemon cakes, Arya.  I haven't had a chance to go to the supermarket this week."

Arya took a box out of her bag.  Sansa sniffed the air, and her eyes widened.  "You bought lemon cakes?  And you didn't tell me?"

She reached for the box but Arya pulled it away.  She positively cackled at the look of betrayal on her sister's face.  "Nuh-uh, Sans. I'm taking this on the bus with me. This is going to be your reward for getting home early."

"Let me have just one?  Please, Arya?  Please?" Sansa put on her best kicked-puppy look.

"No.  If you'd agreed to drive me home, I'd have let you have one.  Now you only get your precious Margaery for company, and no lemon cakes."

"I'll be home really soon!  I just need to get some other books for my paper."

"Glad to hear it.  Bye Sans!"

 

Rain was pouring when Sansa finally made it to her car.  It was already dark, the murky night sky illuminated only by occasional flashes of lightning.  Sansa hurriedly deposited her bag, laden with books, on the passenger seat, and then ducked into the driver's side.

Her clothes were not yet totally soaked through.  She considered that a success.

Brushing damp strands of red hair away from her face, she started the car.  The engine of her sporty little coupe roared to life.  The Starks were not the blue-blood aristocracy that they once were, hundreds of years ago, but they still held land and investments in the northern provinces.  Their parents had enough to give Sansa a nice car and a comfortable condo in the suburbs of King's Landing while she studied here, even if she had to share the place with Arya.

She took the King's Highway out of the city center and toward her apartment, humming to herself an ancient song, one she had found while doing research on the War of the Five Kings.  It was an old Lannister tune about some destroyed castle or another.  The book said it was an ill omened song, which always brought bad luck to those who heard it, but the lyrics were so catchy that she just had to look it up online so she could sing it.

" _Only a cat of a different coat,_ _that's all the truth I know..._ _"_

Lightning flashed, suddenly illuminating a series of road blocks ahead.  Sansa barely had enough time to hit the brakes.

"'Highway flooded.  Detour via Blackwater Drive'? Damn it," Sansa slammed the steering wheel in frustration.  This would add at least 45 minutes to her drive, which left her lemon cakes in mortal danger.  She could picture Arya cackling evilly over their poor, half-eaten bodies already.  Even worse, Blackwater Drive winded itself along the coast, with stretches of it bounded on one side by high cliffs, and the forbidding waters of Blackwater Bay on the other. It was Sansa's least favorite road to drive, in all of her time in King's Landing.

She sighed, and turned her car onto an exit that led to Blackwater Drive.  She would have left the library earlier, but she had come across another book about Queen Margaery, which had instantly distracted her from her original mission.

Her paper on the social implications of the War of the Five Kings needed a lot more primary sources as supporting evidence, of which she had precious few.  Despite the war being such an important time in Westeros history, not many sources from the period survived.  Instead, most scholars relied on a few secondary sources.  Despite the high-quality research, Sansa felt those historians, writing hundreds of years after the original events, neglected important figures and happenings, and even presented incomplete or contradictory narratives in certain cases. There was a lot more scholarship that could be done there.

Like, for example, Queen Margaery.

Before she could wonder off into her own little geeky world of graduate-level medieval history, a flash of high beams from a passing car brought Sansa back into reality.  She had to focus on this difficult night drive first, preferably getting home before Arya made good on her threat.

Rain pelted the windshield mercilessly.  Another bolt of lightning seared through the sky, briefly turning night into day.  It was followed very quickly by a loud crash of thunder.  Judging by the lack of appreciable delay between the two events, the worst of the storm was almost directly on top of her.

_"And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_   _as long and sharp as yours."_

Margaery.  Poor Queen Margaery.  By all the accounts, she was going to be a great queen.  She matched wits with that evil queen mother, gotten herself out of the clutches of fanatical fundamentalists, and was well on her way to establishing herself as the power behind the throne.  A throne that, for the first time in many centuries, could have been used for the good of the smallfolk.  And, she might have even reconciled with the North, where her friend Sansa had gone.

Sansa flushed a little at the thought of her namesake.  The sources were very circumspect about Queen Margaery and Sansa Stark's relationship.  They dropped only tantalizing rumors about secretive meetings in the gardens, the woods, and later, in their chambers –- the sounds of giggles and feminine sighs overheard only by passing maids.  But, reading some of the primary texts, she was convinced that her ancestor Stark, so long ago, had been  _with_  Margaery, and maybe even loved her.  If they had both been allowed to live and thrive, who knew what could have happened?

Instead, the evil queen mother and those same stupid fanatics prevented Queen Margaery from achieving her destiny.  Her life was turned to ashes in an explosion of wildfire, and with her, the destiny of House Tyrell, and the history of the Seven Old Kingdoms.

" _But now the rains weep o'er his hall,_ _with no one there to hear."_

Since she first read about Queen Margaery, when she was still a teenager, Sansa wondered about the counterfactuals.  What if Margaery lived?  Would she have averted the disastrous events that followed? Would she have found her Sansa again?  What if?

Lightning flashed dangerously close.  Blackwater Drive had straightened out by this point.  The worst of the winding coastal road was past, and she was on the home stretch. If it had been a bright clear day, she would be able to see her apartment building already. Unconsciously, Sansa pressed down on the accelerator, eager to finally get home.

The car's engines thrummed in response.  The speedometer ticked upward: 75 miles per hour.  80.  85.

A sudden, sharp flash blinded her.  She heard a tremendous boom of ... thunder?  

Everything turned white.

 

The first thing Sansa noted, when she awoke, was that it was bright as day.  The sun was shining, so it was in fact, day.  The second thing she noted was that the car had run off the road.  It had stopped in the middle of a clearing, with a small trail of crushed grass and scorch marks behind it.

_At least I didn't drive myself straight into Blackwater Bay_ , she thought.

Sansa checked over herself, and was relieved that she seemed uninjured, not even a bruise.  The car must have stopped itself relatively gently once it went off the road.  With the sun having already made considerable progress climbing upward in the sky, she must have been out for a long time.

She fumbled for the mobile phone in her bag.   _Gods, Arya must be in a panic_.

The bag was still mildly damp.  Sansa made a disgusted face.   _I'll have to get this dried out when I get home._

_Wait..._

She pressed a hand against her blouse.  It was not dripping water onto the upholstery like it did when she first got in the car, but it was still damp.

Something was odd about this.  If she was unconscious all night and most of the morning, her things should have been dry by now.

Unnerved, Sansa unlocked the door and got out of car.  She took a shaky step on the grass.  The ground was firm, as if it had not been raining apocalyptically just some hours ago.  She turned to look toward King's Landing.

It was a clear and beautiful day.  The Red Keep rose majestically against the shores of the Blackwater, its towers and turrets in full splendor as royal banners flew atop them.  In the distance, at the heart of the great city, the dome of the Great Sept of Baelor could be seen, the Seven-Pointed Star barely visible in the dissipating morning haze.

Sansa squeaked in distress, almost dropping her phone.

The Red Keep was never fully restored.  No government had the resources for such a monumental task of historical preservation.  The Tower of the Hand was only described in the texts, and shown in artists' renderings.  Most of the great castle's ruins were shorn away over the years by the salt-laced wind and rains, leaving pocked, brown rock behind.

And, of course, the Great Sept was destroyed centuries ago.  The crater left behind was filled in eventually, and a sept of the Faith rebuilt.  The building eventually became a museum, its architecture recalling the characteristic style of its age, but nowhere close to the Great Sept's original grandeur.

 

The first thing Sansa did was to check for a cellular connection.   _No Service,_ her phone displayed.   _Of course not_.

The second thing she did was to snap photos of the Red Keep, King's Landing, and the Great Sept.  One can't just  _stop_  being a history student, after all.  Even if said student was apparently dragged out of her time in a freak lightning storm, and thrown centuries back in time.

There was no other good explanation for this.  Unless the entire city of King's Landing conspired to play a gigantic practical joke on her, and restored all of its historical monuments in the eight hours or so that she was out unconscious.  Or, maybe someone just kidnapped her, and dumped her into a huge period drama, with the best production values since  _The Baratheons_  stopped airing.

Or if she had hit her head hard in the car crash, and was hallucinating everything.

Sansa sighed.  It really changed nothing.  If it was all in her head, she might as well play along with this incredibly detailed hallucination, since there was literally nothing better to do.  Her body was probably still strapped in the car, and she was just drooling on her unconscious self while waiting for rescue.

And if it was  _not_  all in her own head, she would have to play along, to in order to survive in what appeared to be medieval Westeros.  She would need to somehow find a way to get back to her own time, and not die a horrible death in the process. Death came all too easily in this time, as the narratives in her books often reminded her.

In the distance, the bells of the Great Sept tolled.

_Something big is happening today, if they're tolling the bell now._

The fluttering banners of the Red Keep drew her attention.   She could barely make out a stag sigil on a yellow background, on the top banners of the castle.   _This was almost five centuries ago, then, when House Baratheon ruled.  Now, which_   _Baratheon_?

She could not locate many red lions on the banners, except those flying on the Tower of the Hand.   _Not Joffrey at least_ _._

Then, she saw it.  A golden rose on a field of green, just below the stag.

_Margaery_.

Suspicion tickled at the back of her mind.   _No, no way!  It can't be.  Can it?_

 

She had no time to lose.

In all honesty, this scenario had played out before, in Sansa's fantasies.  Back in her younger, more romantic days, she imagined being transported to Queen Margaery's time.  She would swoop in on a mighty steed, a lady knight in shining armor, to save the beautiful queen from her fate.  They would abscond into the wilderness, where her object of affection would look at her, mouth quirked in that adorable smile, and reward her with a sweet kiss.  Most of the time, that fantasy ended in very much non-family-friendly ways.

That the steed turned out to be her 2-door coupe with utterly untested off-roading capability, and that she was wearing just some old blouse and jeans, was neither here nor there.

If her hunch was right, this was  _the_  day.  The day of the Trial of Cersei Lannister.  The trial that would never be.

And the day when her heroine, Queen Margaery, died in the Great Sept, along with all the nobles and clergy of the realm in attendance.

Only this time, Sansa Stark had a chance to change everything.

She resisted the impulse to gun the engines.  She dared not press her poor car further on this unpaved dirt road.  Besides, she needed to make a plan.  Fantasy was one thing, reality - albeit possibly hallucinated - was another.  With nothing but her knowledge of the future, Sansa needed to get into a medieval city full of armed men and hostile zealots, subvert Cersei's infamous wildfire plot, save Margaery, and change the history of the Seven Kingdoms.

_No pressure_.

 

Margaery could not believe it.

She was going to die here.  Her brother was going to die here.  Her father was going to die here.  Everyone in the Sept was going to die today.  All because of this arrogant old man, who could not ever contemplate the notion that a  _woman_  could possibly best him at anything.

"We cannot escape the justice of the Gods," the High Sparrow proclaimed imperiously.

"Forget about the bloody gods and listen to what I’m telling you," Margaery said, losing her carefully feigned composure at last.  "Cersei understands the consequences of her absence and she is absent anyway, which means she does not intend to suffer those consequences."

"This trial can wait. We all need to leave.  Now!"

The High Sparrow scoffed.  Margaery took a deep breath.  Of course, he was no more likely to entertain her words than Cersei's.  His mind had been closed and set for decades, if that stupid story he had told her in the cell was true.  A fanatic, convinced of his own righteousness, was more dangerous than even a capricious monarch.  If she had the time, this Sparrow would not be High Septon of the Faith for long. His theocratic vision would surely lead the realm down a dark path.

But she had no more time.

She hurried over to Loras, who still knelt on the stones, the scarlet star of the Faith over his forehead still seeping blood.  Margaery's heart clenched at the sight of it.  They had hurt him so badly.  He barely seemed like the same spirited Loras she once knew.

She took his chin, and forced his vacant brown eyes to meet her own.  "Loras," she swallowed thickly, "Loras, stay with me.  We have to go."

Loras groaned, his eyes still unfocused, but he made a supreme effort to stand.  Margaery half-held, half-pulled him along the steps, marching up toward an exit.

As they finally neared the top, black-robed and armed Faith Militant stepped forward, blocking their path.

Mustering every ounce of authority she could, Margaery commanded, "Let me through!"

The Faith Militant stood impassively, their faces betraying nothing.

She pushed one of them hard, but the stocky man did not even budge.

Margaery pushed again, but the zealots would not move.  "Let me through!  I'm the Queen.  Get out of my way!"  She cried out, desperately.

That was it.  They were all going to die here, now.  She closed her eyes.

"Aaaggh!"  The black robed militant directly in front of her suddenly groaned loudly, and started to convulse.  In a moment, he crumpled to the ground in a heap, still shaking.  The air smelled faintly strange and metallic, as if a lightning bolt just struck nearby.

As his companion took a step backward, surprise etched on his formerly stoic face, Margaery saw someone she never expected to see again.

A red-haired girl stood on at the entrance to the Great Sept, her blue eyes wide, her hands clutching a black device of some kind.

"Sansa?" Margaery whispered, incredulously.

 

Every step she took toward the Great Sept, Sansa regretted not taking up Jon's offer of firearms training.

"Why would I ever need a gun in King's Landing?" she had said, laughing at Jon's earnest look.

_Why indeed, huh._

She huffed.  Sometimes one just cannot plan for everything.

"Let me through!" Sansa heard a feminine voice cry out, from within the Sept.

She rushed up the last few steps and into the entryway.  And there, she saw her – Margaery, just as beautiful the paintings portrayed her, her beautiful brown hair hanging down immaculately around her face, accentuated by her queen's crown.  She was desperately pushing against two robed figures, who held her back easily.  Beside the queen, a man stood weakly, staring blankly ahead, almost catatonic.

Sansa took out her weapon.  The little device, colloquially called a "taser", was a high voltage electroshock gun, designed to incapacitate.  Though a civilian version was sold everywhere, Sansa's model was police spec –– higher voltage, more charges, and both long-range probe and close quarters stun gun modes.  Jon had given it to her, and made her keep it in her bag, after she refused to train with a real gun.  "Best to have one and not need it, than not having one when you do need it," Jon had said.

Sansa aimed the device.  In ranged mode, it had a reach of 30 feet, leaving herself safely out of reach of any other Faith Militant.  With no hesitation, she fired.

Electrodes darted forth and attached themselves to the back of the Faith Militant barring the queen's way. The barbed metal tips easily pierced the man's robes.  In the blink of an eye, fifty-thousand volts discharged into the hapless man.

Fanaticism stood no chance against hundreds of years of technological advancement. The black robed Militant dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Sansa was amazed.  She never fired the thing before.  She had no idea how effective, or how supremely painful, it seemed to be.

"Sansa?"  The young queen asked, her usually composed face betraying her surprise.

She was face to face with her childhood heroine.

 

Before Sansa could muster up any coherent response to Margaery, she saw the other Faith Militant was starting to recover from his initial surprise.  The man was reaching for his weapon.  Quickly, just like Jon taught her, Sansa unloaded the expended cartridge and snapped in another.  She took aim at the approaching man and fired.

The fanatic fell hard, striking his head against the stone floor of the Sept. Sansa waved her taser threateningly at the nearby Militants. They shied back, like scared mice, holding their arms in front as if to protect themselves from the mysterious girl's sorcery.

Margaery looked down at the fallen fanatic, then at Sansa. 

"Marg...uh, Your Grace, I don't have time to explain this.  We have to leave!  Now!"

Margaery blinked at the blunt demand, but recovered quickly.  She stepped over the prone bodies of the enforcers of the Faith.  "I was just thinking the same.  Come on, Loras.  Time to go."  

The sudden and extremely unorthodox attack on the two Faith Militant seemed to have roused the knight from his shock, and he hurried out of the Sept with his sister.

Seeing the exit no longer blocked, a small group of nobles and onlookers rushed the exit, even as the other members of the Faith ran to aid their fallen compatriots.

 

A deep, low rumble came from beneath the Great Sept.  Margaery almost fell, her footwear not designed for a fast-paced flight down stone steps, but Loras had enough presence of mind left to reach out and steady her.

The red-haired girl, who looked so much like Sansa dressed in extremely odd clothes, looked around in panic.  "Damn it, it's starting already!"

"What is?" Margaery asked.

"Wildfire.  Cersei's already set off the wildfire under the Sept."

"Cersei ... wildfire?" Margaery's mind spun.   _Of course.  That's how she's going to get away with this.  She's going to destroy everything._   Though she was not personally present at the Battle of Blackwater, Margaery had heard Loras speak of the utter devastation wreaked upon the invading fleet by Tyrion's fireships.  If Cersei had planted a cache of wildfire beneath the Great Sept, then everyone was in fact going to die.

And they were certainly not going to make it far enough away, on foot, before the whole place went up in flames.

She wanted to laugh at the irony of it all.  So close, yet so far.  Instead, she smiled at the Sansa-like girl.  "I'm sorry your rescue didn't quite work out.  I'm grateful you came for me, just the same."

The girl stared back at her.  "No, we can still make it." She darted off, down the remaining steps.  "This way!  Run!"

Margaery ran.

 

They came to stand before a strange metal contraption.  It was a hollow metallic shell on four wheels, with two seats fixed within, and ghostly lights blinking both inside and out.  In front of one of the seats was mounted a large wheel, almost like those found on sailing ships.

It was nothing Margaery had ever seen, either in her maester's books or in the stories.

The redhead rushed to open the doors on the side of the device.  She sat in the seat in front of the wheel, and gestured urgently at Margaery.

"Get in and close the door on your side.  I don't have time to lower the seats.  You'll both have to squeeze in the front until we get out of here."

Seeing Margaery still standing there motionless, Sansa looked into the brunette queen's eyes, desperation evident in her voice, "Margaery, please, trust me!"

The girl looked so much like her Sansa.

Margaery glanced at Loras, who seemed very disoriented.  He would be no help. Without another thought, she ducked her head into the contraption and sat down on the surprisingly soft seat.  Seeing this, Loras followed after her, awkwardly fitting his larger frame within.  The space was extremely tiny once the door closed. Margaery had to shift until she was pressed tightly against the redheaded girl, so that Loras could fit in next to her.

The girl stepped hard on something with her foot, and spun the wheel in front.  The machine suddenly lurched into motion.  Margaery winced as Loras's body was forced against her.  In response she leaned over further still, feeling the warmth of Sansa's body through her thin, strange clothes.

Then, she yelled out in shock, her arms instinctively wrapping around Sansa, as the contraption they were within took on amazing speed.  It growled, and accelerated faster than any horse could.  Buildings and people went past in a blur as they rushed down the main cobblestone street of the city.

The underground rumbling intensified.  A few seconds later, a massive curtain of green fire erupted behind them.

 

Medieval King's Landing was not designed for driving.

Her car was not very large, so it did fit within the narrow streets – the main thoroughfares, anyway.  Sansa was grimly thankful that most people were crowded into the Sept that day.  The nearby streets were largely devoid of people, so at least she did not run over anyone in her rush.

She took refuge in audacity when she entered the city with her car, horn at full blast. The car blew past the gate guards, who stood in dumbfounded amazement.  She probably needed to take a different gate  _out_  of the city now.  If they actually closed the gates on her, there would be no way out, car or not.

Thankfully, she knew that medieval communication technology – or the severe lack thereof – was on her side.  The Red Keep could not exactly send out an all-points bulletin to the Goldcloaks over the radio.

Just as predicted, the guards on the other side of the city were completely unprepared. The city gates were wide open. Sansa slammed the accelerator and flew past the astonished guardsmen. Though, she almost did hit some startled farmers, who barely got their wagon out of the way in time.  With a roar, her little car carried the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms out of King's Landing, and into the farmlands and wilderness beyond.

Only after the adrenaline rush of their escape subsided, did Sansa realize that Margaery's arms were wound tightly around her midsection, and the young queen's face was pressed into the crook of her neck.  Stray strands of brown hair were tickling her chin.  The sweet, rose scent of Margaery's perfume pervaded her small car.

She blushed so hard, she was not sure if there would be enough blood left in her brain to remain conscious.

 

They came to a stop in a wooded area, a fair distance away from King's Landing.  Sansa parked the car slightly off the main road, so as to disguise themselves a bit from any pursuers.

She opened the door. "I think it's safe now.  We can get out for a bit.  Talk, if you want."  Margaery released her death-grip Sansa's midsection and nodded.

They got out.  Loras seemed disoriented, and leaned heavily against the side of the car, seemingly uninterested in the things going on around him.

Margaery, on the other hand, walked around the car.  She looked intently at Sansa, who ducked her head down, slightly embarrassed.

"So, my savior, who are you?"

"My name is Sansa.  Sansa...Stark.  But not your Sansa Stark.  I'm..."

She trailed off.  Margaery continued to examine her, curiosity obvious in those large, brown eyes.

"Your Grace, you're not going to believe this," she laughed nervously, looking at anywhere except the young queen in front of her.  "I'm from the future.  Nearly five hundred years in the future from ... whenever now is."

"I believe you."

"Look, I'll prove it to you.  I've got... wait,  _what_?"  Blue eyes focused on Margaery, in shock.

"I believe you.  That you're from the future."  Margaery said simply.

" _Really_?  Why?  Why would you –"

Margaery smirked, in that cute way that was always depicted in the paintings.  "Why wouldn't I?" Using her fingers, she started to count off. "You knew exactly what the Queen Mother was up to, a secret that would have been known only to Cersei's inner circle.  You came to my rescue at precisely the right time.  You have this incredible mechanical carriage that moves faster than any horse.  You have a weapon that projects lightning from your hands.  You are dressed unlike any peasant or noble, from any city or any continent that I know of.  Either you are a goddess made flesh, wielding powers beyond the wildest dreams of maesters and men ... or you are who you say are."

Sansa laughed, almost insanely, in relief.  Her heroine, Margaery, was even more clever than the books gave her credit for. "Your Grace, I'm...this went so much better than what I'd planned for in my head."

Margaery smiled wider.  She reached over and placed a hand on Sansa's arm.  A friendly gesture, though she could feel the girl shiver under her touch.   _Interesting._

"You should call me Margaery.  You've earned that and more, Sansa Stark from the future.  You saved my life, and the life of my brother. All of House Tyrell is forever in your debt this day."

She let her hand linger a bit on Sansa's arm.  "What does my beautiful savior plan to do next?"

"Um." Sansa nervously tucked away a stray strand of red hair.  "I - I didn't think much about ... after."

Margaery raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know what to do next exactly. I don't know what will happen next.  I only know what did happen in the old history, before I...changed it."

Margaery nodded thoughtfully.  "Right, I suppose I should have died already, in the Sept."  It was never pleasant, discovering what gruesome fate destiny had in store for oneself.  Then again, most people did not get to have such thoughts.  They were already dead by then, of course.

Both of them glanced back, in the direction of King's Landing.  A plume of smoke rising from beyond the horizon was all that they could see.

"Yes, and this time you haven't died.  Which means the future won't play out exactly like it did before.  And, I don't want to change things even more, because who knows what else might happen. All the TV shows I've seen about time travel, they were all 'Don't step on butterflies', or 'Don't save the girl you're totally obsessed with', or 'Don't kiss the beautiful girl you just saved because she could be your great-great-great-grandmother'."

Margaery tried her best to follow along with the rambling. She was not terribly successful.

The girl wrung her hands nervously.  "We can't go back, that's for sure.  By now King Tommen would have jumped from the tower, and Cersei will soon be crowned queen in her own right."

Hearing the fate of poor Tommen brought Margaery a brief pang of regret.  He was a sweet boy, who did not deserve any of this.  Her dismal track record with husbands proved more enduring than she expected.  She was, yet again, a widowed former queen.

"But, this...this car, it won't run forever.  It needs fuel, and I don't think I can get petrol here in medieval Westeros.  I really wish I bought that solar charging add-on now, but it was so expensive and I didn't think I'd ever  _not_  be near a petrol station, since I lived in the middle of King's Landing, the biggest city in all of the country..."

The redhead started on another nervous ramble, only stopping when she realized Margaery was giggling at her.

"You remind me so much of my Sansa.  The resemblance is just truly uncanny.  You could be twins, you and her.  Especially when you're thinking hard, with your hands clutched together like that.  Or when you're speaking so freely."

Margaery's eyes took on a faraway look.  "I suppose you know about her – your namesake, I mean."

"The books said you two were ... close."

"That would be one way to describe it."  Margaery's expression was forlorn, almost regretful.  "I'm curious, do you know what happened to her?"

"At this time?  Uhhh, she'd be in the North, I guess.  She should be back in Winterfell if I remember.  It's...a bit of a long story, and she's been through so much.  But she still adores you.  Uh...not that I would know really, but the books seem to suggest that."

"I see. I'm very glad to hear it.  And I still hold a very special place in my heart for my Sansa." Margaery's attention returned to her, and Sansa's heart skipped a beat in her chest.

Margaery considered their situation for a moment.

"May I make a suggestion, Sansa?  About what to do next?"

"Y-yes of course."

"We should go to Highgarden.  As quickly as we possibly can."

"Highgarden. Right, it's still under House Tyrell control at this time."

Margaery narrowed her eyes at what the girl inadvertently implied.

"...yes, I need to confer with Grandmother, before she does anything  _rash_."

"You see, Loras and I, we're the only living heirs to House Tyrell."  Sansa nodded at that.  "When news reaches Grandmother that both of us, and Father, were in the Great Sept, she would be so heartbroken.  So heartbroken that she might wage war on the Lannisters, which may not be in our best interests right at this moment."

"Yeah, she did," Sansa confirmed.  "It resulted in...well, many things, some of them bad things."

"I see." Margaery mused. "I suppose it's not a terrible surprise. We Tyrells...we were always better lovers than fighters. In that case, it is very important that I speak with Grandmother, before anything else should happen.  Can you get us to Highgarden?"

Sansa looked down in thought.  "I'm not sure.  I've never driven the Roseroad, in my time.  And, the roads here aren't exactly the paved roads I'm used to.  The car might not even last that long at this rate."

"Can you at least get us close to the Reach?  The Crownlands are Lannister territory, and I don't know what would happen if we try to arrange for horses or a carriage here."

"I suppose we can try.  You'll have to tell me where to go.  I'm not even sure where we are right now, and you don't have the Internet so I can't exactly look it up on Google Maps."

Margaery blinked.

"Sorry, future stuff."  Sansa looked apologetic.

"Right.  Yes, I can direct you to the Roseroad."

"But...at some point I have to figure out how to get back to my own time.  I don't really know how I got here in the first place, but I can't just  _stay here_  with you."  

At Margaery's look, she hurriedly amended.  "Not that I don't enjoy your company.  Not that at all.  I really enjoyed meeting you.  So much.  In a friendly way, of course – purely friendly, 'you've been my hero for so long!', that kind of way.  But I don't belong here. My sister would miss me.  And, my parents, oh gods, they must be so worried already!  And...and also, I really miss having all the future things that we have...in the future."

Margaery clasped Sansa's hands in her own, stopping the latest ramble before it went on too much further.  "Then you are going to the right place.  The Reach is home to the Citadel.  It contains the accumulated knowledge of all the kingdoms throughout our history, and maesters who spent their entire lives studying them.  If there is anything in this time that can help you, it would be there.  And, I promise, once this is all settled, I will do everything I can to get you home."

Sansa looked at their joined hands.  She smiled, shyly.  "All right.  I'll take us to Highgarden.  Oh, we should put your brother in the backseat this time, so you aren't all squished up against me."

"It was no trouble at all."  Margaery moved forward, still holding Sansa's hands, a smirk on her face.  She pressed a quick kiss to Sansa's lips.  "I rather enjoyed holding on to you, my beautiful savior."  

She almost laughed out loud at the full-body blush this triggered for the redhead.   _Very interesting._

 

"Sansa, what is this book about?"

The redhead glanced over.  Margaery was flipping curiously through one of the books that Sansa borrowed from the library.  It had fallen out of the bag and onto the floor when the car went off-road.

"That's a history book.  About this time period, written by a professor - what you'd call a maester - who won't be born for hundreds of years yet."

"I see."  Margaery tried to read the book more closely.  Language in Westeros had not changed greatly over the next few centuries, due to the strict prescriptions of the Citadel maesters and their successor organization - the Westerosi Academy.  With some difficulty, Margaery was able to read a few passages.

Immediately, she realized just how important this book was. It had everything. Events that already happened, their causes, their consequences. Events that would have happened, if things played out as before, and their causes and consequences. Everything a player of the game of thrones needed to know, understand, and anticipate her enemies.

It appeared Sansa realized this too, belatedly. She snatched away the book with one hand, and tossed it into her bag. "Sorry, please don't read that. Please."

"Of course," Margaery smiled back warmly. "My apologies, I was just curious."

The former queen reminded herself to have all of the books in Sansa's bag copied, by an entire roomful of maesters working all day and night if necessary, once they arrived at Highgarden.

 

Margaery leaned back.  This mechanical carriage was surprisingly comfortable, much more so than the wooden ones she was used to.  She felt the exhaustion of the day's events start to weigh heavily upon her, and closed her eyes.

The great game just became a lot more interesting.  She pursed her lips into a thin line.  She lived, against all the odds.  True, she lost her title of queen of the Seven Kingdoms, again, for the third time in a row. However, she had something even more valuable than that now. She had knowledge of the future, within her grasp, just waiting to be exploited.  That future that was no longer certain, to be sure, due to Sansa's intervention.  But people did not deviate so much from their basic nature.  Knowing exactly what key players of the game did in the old history, it would not be difficult for her to anticipate their every move in the new history.

With this kind of advantage, she would be a queen again soon.  Not just a queen, she would be  _the_  queen, in her own right. Cersei wouldn't even know what hit her.

And, she had Sansa.  Not her Sansa, regrettably, but a descendant, or maybe a reincarnation, if such things were possible.  With this girl at her side, she would have yet another advantage over all of her enemies. The redhead was a walking fount of knowledge, about events, technologies, and hidden truths that the passage of time uncovered. This version of Sansa was also clearly taken with her. It would not take much  _persuasion_  at all to get the redhead into Margaery's arms, and then into her bed.  And once that happened...

It would be almost like repeating her courtship with the other Sansa, who was also once a shy little dove.  Margaery smiled to herself as she remembered their first time together, years ago in that private garden in King's Landing.  She enjoyed that experience so very much. This time she would get to keep the beautiful little bird with her, and slowly make the girl give up all her sweet secrets.

She still had to find out exactly what happened to the Sansa Stark of her own time.  She would have to send some ravens.  It would be a great outcome if she could bring that Sansa back to her side as well.  Or, if Sansa actually ruled in Winterfell as heir to the North, there might be an excellent political alliance to be had in these chaotic times. A marriage alliance, perhaps.

As sleep started to claim her, Margaery had a devilish thought.  If she made the right moves, she might get to keep both Sansas.  She always wanted to try out all the fun things life had to offer, before she became old and gray.  Beautiful, tall, red-haired twins with crystal blue eyes and adorable smiles.  Wouldn't that be  _so much fun_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't try to tase crazy religious cultists at home, kids. This only works in fiction.
> 
> Poor time traveler Sansa. Her favorite queen is rather morally dubious sometimes, but Margaery has such good PR that the historical sources don't write about her darker aspects. 
> 
> And Sansa never even got to have her lemon cakes.


	2. Epilogue 1 - Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siege of Highgarden does not go as planned, in the new timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main story title is a reference to Mark Twain's _A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court_. That book is really just the first Arthurian Legend time travel crack AU fanfic. It's worth a skim if you're into fighting knights with revolvers.
> 
> In the same spirit, here is a silly bit I kept out of the story originally.

Jaime Lannister stood before the walls of Highgarden, observing as soldiers bearing the golden rose sigil of House Tyrell filed out of its gates.

"What do you think they're doing?" He asked Bronn.

"Fuck if I know," Bronn looked as puzzled as he was. "If I were that old bitch, I'd hole up behind those fine walls. Wait for us to assault and bleed ourselves dry."

"Yes..." Jaime stared across the field. "Olenna might not have her best general with her, but she's no fool. What is she doing?"

The garrison at Highgarden was massively outnumbered by the Lannister army. Reports from the Reach indicated that Lady Olenna had detached parts of her household guard to occupy the castles of House Tarly. Someone in the Red Keep must have leaked Randyll's betrayal. That was unfortunate, but it did leave Highgarden itself dangerously undermanned.

It was a prime opportunity to seize the heart of the Reach, an opportunity Queen Cersei would not miss. The Reach remained uncommitted to any side in this latest war. But the Iron Bank was breathing down their necks, and Tyrell gold would go a long way toward repaying the crown's debts.

 

Usually, an outnumbered army in a strong castle would never leave its fortified position.  Yet, this appeared to be exactly what the defenders were doing.

The Tyrell troops formed up into a long, thin line, three ranks deep.  Instead of swords or spears, though, most of the soldiers had long, thin tubes of some sort in their hands. Interspersed between the lines were more conventional troops, with long pikes, defending the strange new soldiers as they tinkered with their tube-weapons.

"What are they holding?" Jaime pointed.

Bronn shook his head.

 

The royal army advanced across the field, in perfect formation, shields held up and interlocked.  Banners of red lions flew proudly above them.

As they closed in, a Tyrell officer called out something. The soldiers from Highgarden raised their weapons as one.

They approached, closer still.  Still the Tyrell soldiers held position, making no move to advance or retreat.

The Lannister army was about half-way across the field when all hell broke loose.

 

Flashes of fire and smoke exploded across the battle line. Shortly thereafter, screams of men and horses rose from the Lannister side. Men fell down mid-step, struck by projectiles too fast to even see. Wooden shields proved of little use, and only the heaviest plate armor -- worn mostly by the mounted noble knights -- offered protection against this mysterious weapon.

The first rank of Tyrell troops knelt down. The second line raised their weapons. A command sounded, and fire again exploded across the line.

Soldiers fell.  Horses toppled. 

The second line knelt as the third rank moved up, occluded now by the smoke.  Their volley proved no less devastating.

Then, the first line stood up again, evidently having reloaded their weapons.

The Lannister army never reached the other side of the field. By the ninth volley, soldiers and knights alike broke and ran for their lives.

Bronn dragged a shocked Ser Jaime off the field. It would not do to lose the lord commander of the armies of the Seven Kingdoms in a useless last stand.

 

"For Highgarden!" Margaery cheered from the castle walls, clapping happily. "What did you say these things were called, Sansa?"

"Muskets. They're called muskets. And this is really _not right_ , Margaery." Sansa nervously plucked at her dress again, wishing it would cover more of her cleavage. Her breasts were pushed out almost obscenely. The young noblewomen of the Reach wore similar dresses, but it felt to Sansa like she was constantly walking around half-naked.

She never thought she'd miss t-shirts and jeans.

The brunette looked over at her, big brown eyes shining. "That army was coming to kill me. To finish the job their queen started. The Lannisters were going to burn Highgarden, and murder our family, our people. Would you really let them do that to me, Sansa?"

"...no, of course not." Sansa sighed.

Margaery smiled. She leaned over and gave her redhead companion a kiss.  For a single, brief, glorious moment, Sansa forgot all about timelines and butterfly effects.

On the field below, the newly trained Highgarden 1st Regiment of Musketeers had won the day. The two young women turned to watch as cavalry sallied from the castle, with Ser Loras leading a merciless pursuit of the routing royal army.

Sansa bit her lip. If this continued, she wasn't sure if there would still be a future Westeros for her to return to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History is all wrecked now. Thanks a lot, future!Sansa.
> 
>  
> 
> Can't say I really blame her though. One of my favorite scenes in the show was Marg cheering for her team. 
> 
>    
> 
> 
> Wouldn't you endanger the timeline for her?


	3. Epilogue 2 - Expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery's schemes start to come to fruition.

"My Lady, it can't be done."

"Why not? These drawings should have everything you need."

"We cannot just _make_ something like this, my Lady. These are nothing like anything we've previously seen, much less built. It – it would take a year or more to study these plans, acquire the proper materials, produce the necessary casts... Then we'd have to refit the ships or build new ones to carry them –"

Margaery did not bother to listen to the rest of the maester's excuses.

"Get started then. Tell your people their payment will be doubled if they deliver these ships within nine months. Tripled if within six months."

The maester sighed heavily. He nodded, bowed, and left.

 

From reading Sansa's books, it was clear that the Citadel's rejection of innovation had held back Westeros for centuries. Margaery was going to force at least some of these maesters out of their academic complacency. Maybe a few of them might be inspired to invent new things, instead of just copying the works of great men who came before them.

Unfortunately this did not solve her immediate problem. She had no other way of going to the North except by sea. The Lannisters still controlled all the land in between. Without these "cannons", the Tyrell fleet could not take on Cersei's navy.

Her next move depended on the Dragon Queen. For now, Margaery had to wait.

 

Kissing Sansa -- any version of Sansa -- was one of the most enjoyable things in life, Margaery decided.

They sat in a pavilion, in the rose gardens. Margaery was situated in Sansa's lap, and having a great time kissing the redhead senseless.

Since their arrival in Highgarden, Margaery made sure to acclimate the girl from the future to her new life. The cover story was that Sansa was a noblewoman from Essos, to whom Queen Margaery had taken quite a fancy. The queen then brought her favorite lady-in-waiting with her, when she fled King's Landing ahead of Cersei's plot against her life. Being young and foreign, Lady "Alayne" was unfamiliar with the social conventions of Westeros, and could naturally be excused for her eccentricities.

Spies were everywhere. The longer they remained unaware of who this girl truly was, the better.

To avoid anyone looking too deeply into her story, Alayne rarely left the Tyrell estates. She spent most of her days secluded with Margaery or her family.

This also suited Margaery's ulterior motives very well.

 

Some days after their arrival, she led Sansa on their first walk through the famous gardens. The redhead mentioned that Highgarden castle did not exist in her time. For Sansa, this was quite literally a visit to one of the lost Wonders of the World.

Strolling amidst beautiful roses of all colors, they shared stories about their lives, growing up literally in different worlds. Sansa spoke animatedly about modern Winterfell and King's Landing, about her family, about her gigantic dog she had to leave behind to attend university. Mostly, though, she talked about her interest in history, her chosen field of study –– medieval history in general, and Margaery in particular.  Being so engaged in their conversation, Sansa inadvertently admitted she wrote some fictional stories about Margaery, under the pen name Alayne – which was how she came up with her current name.

She looked so unsure then, fearing Margaery would be offended, or would laugh at her. Margaery simply smiled, and said she really wanted to read one of Sansa's stories. It was only upon seeing the panicked look on redhead's face, that she burst into giggles.

In return, Margaery reminisced about her childhood, about growing up a lady of a Great House, about her first-hand experiences with Westeros high politics. Sansa listened, seemingly fascinated. When she shared a particularly salacious tale, though, the girl's eyes positively lit up.  She gushed that this part never made it into the historical chronicles about Queen Margaery.

It was very cute and endearing.

Margaery made light banter about whether her appreciation for pretty girls made it into the historical records, or, for that matter, into Sansa's stories. The girl flushed, seeming very embarrassed. She said the issue was a full-fledged academic debate in her time, but she always believed Margaery appreciated beauty in all forms, and that belief was...properly reflected in her stories.

Sensing victory, Margaery moved to close the deal. With a sly smile, she handed Sansa a beautiful yellow rose. A softly whispered innuendo followed -- about giving Sansa some proper _inspiration_ for her next story.

Sansa's face turned alarmingly red. But, she nodded shyly, her eyes fluttering closed.

As she leaned in for the kiss, Margaery smirked with satisfaction. That move, with the rose, _never_ failed to make the girls swoon.

 

So that was how on this day, they were again in the gardens, with Margaery's tongue in Sansa's mouth, and her hand inside Sansa's dress.

Thank the Maiden for southern fashion.  These dresses let her access the best parts of her lover so easily.

At first, Sansa tried to return it as good as she got. Her tongue pressed back against Margaery's. Her hands groped at Margaery's backside, squeezing hard, as if in revenge.

That would not do at all.

Margaery gave the Sansa's lip a delicate bite, drawing out a hiss, before soothing it with her tongue. Her fingers tweaked the tips of the girl's breast, while her hand palmed and caressed the soft flesh. Her other hand slid inexorably downward, toward somewhere very heated and very sensitive.

Sansa gasped into their kiss. Her eyes rolled back.

 

"Let the poor girl breathe, dear," a voice sounded from behind her.

Margaery broke the kiss with a sigh. Grandmother really had the worst timing.

"Grandmother. You should be resting."

Olenna walked into the pavilion, completely unfazed by her granddaughter's intimate embrace with her new "lady-in-waiting". A maid servant trailed respectfully behind, studiously pretending to see nothing.

Noting that Margaery made no move to separate herself from her lady friend, the Queen of Thorns rolled her eyes and took a seat next to them. She put two scrolls of parchment on the pavilion table.

"Messages from Dorne and Dragonstone, dear. Don't you want to know how your little scheme turned out?"

At this, Margaery gave Sansa one last kiss. She whispered an apology, and got off her lap.

Sansa's eyes were unfocused, her chest heaving, seemingly lost in her own world.

 

Margaery read through the parchments. Her face quirked into a smile.

Her message arrived at Dragonstone at exactly the right time. Lady Greyjoy had already set sail for Dorne, into Euron's trap. With the ambush imminent, Queen Daenerys took to the sky personally with her dragons.

Her agents reported that both sides took heavy losses in the ensuing battle. Euron Greyjoy might have been the better tactician, but even he could not fight dragons raining fire from the sky. The Iron Fleet was forced to withdraw, leaving behind many burning wrecks. Neither fleet would be ready for combat again for quite some time.

Just as Margaery planned. With both of her potential rivals' navies out of action, her ships now had a clear run north to White Harbor.

Queen Daenerys was very grateful to the Reach for the "timely" warning, of course.  Her message asked for an envoy to be sent to Dragonstone, to discuss terms of an alliance.

The Targaryen girl no doubt wanted Margaery to bend the knee. Perhaps she would. Or perhaps she would string the girl along for awhile. Muskets and cannons _might_ be able to pierce dragonhide, but the best battles were the ones not fought at all. There was no need for them to be enemies, for now at least.

Let others take on the Mother of Dragons first. Meanwhile, Margaery had other priorities -- and alliances -- in mind.

She turned to the servant. "Tell Loras we're ready. Have the supplies and troops loaded onto the ships. We'll sail for the North in three days."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually try very hard to follow the principle of "show don't tell", but I really didn't feel like writing a long, dialogue-driven garden scene for an epilogue. There is also no way I can do justice to the original Sansaery garden scene in the show. If that wasn't some subtext-packed, well-practiced seduction on Marg's part, I don't know what is.
> 
> Thank you for all the kind comments and kudos! It really makes me happy that some of you enjoyed this weird little AU.


End file.
